Beneath Devil's Bridge(68)

I reach for a notepad and make a note of this. I make another note about the jacket. I want to ask Clay why he washed it and brought it home for his wife to hang up if the bloodstains were still visible. I want to know why he didn’t try to dispose of it somewhere instead. Because it’s not adding up in my brain.

I hear scratching at my office door and realize I closed Scout out. I open the door and let him in. I ruffle his fur, then reach for my phone as he settles into his doggy bed.

I do a search for Parks Photography and Design. I find the contact number, check my watch, then dial.

The call is picked up on the second ring. “Liam Parks here.”

Adrenaline sparks down my veins as I’m suddenly thrust fully back into old investigation mode. I’m reopening this case. At least in my mind. And when I have my questions lined up, I’m going to drive out and see Clay Pelley.

“Liam, hi, it’s Rachel Hart. I used to be Detective Rachel Walczak, back when Leena Rai was murdered. Detective Luke O’Leary and I spoke with you at the school about the bonfire night, do you remember?”

There is a long silence, so long that I think he might have hung up.

“Liam?”

He clears his throat. “I know why you’re calling,” he says. “I’ve been listening to the podcast. We all have. I . . . I heard Clay Pelley say that he didn’t do it, and . . . I always truly believed he had killed her, but then I got to wondering . . .” His voice dies off.

“Liam? Are you still there?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

“What did you get to wondering?”

“Well, it’s funny you called. Because I realized last night that there is something I need to get off my chest, and I have no interest in talking to Trinity Scott. I really don’t. I’m not into that sensationalizing stuff. And I learned from the podcast that Luke O’Leary is in hospice, so I couldn’t talk to him. And—”

“Luke passed yesterday.”

Another long beat of silence. “I’m so sorry.”

“Me too.”

“I . . . Wow.” He inhales. “You know, time has a way of changing things. I’m not that insecure little geeky kid I was once. And I decided last night that I need to tell someone because . . . just . . . it’s been bottled up and festering for such a long time. After I listened to the podcast episodes, I went up into my attic.” Another pause. “I still have the film I shot that night.”

Quietly I say, “So your camera and film were not stolen?”

“I’m sorry.”

I moisten my lips and stare at the photo of the girls on the board. “You developed some of the film, didn’t you?”

“One roll. Yes.”

“You gave some of the prints to the girls?”

“Yes. I was going to give them one each.”

“Why them?”

“They were—I was attracted to them. I wanted to get in with them. They were the hottest of the hot girls at school. The popular girls.”

A coolness leaches into my chest. Tension squeezes a fist around my throat. I want to ask my next question, but I’m not certain I’m ready for the answer. I hear Luke’s voice close to my ear, almost as though he’s with me now, in this room, laying a soft shadow of a touch on my arm, whispering to me.

Follow the truth, Rache. Even if it hurts. Even if it takes you where you don’t want it to go.

“Why did you lie about the camera and film being stolen, Liam?”

“Maddy asked me to.”

I close my eyes. My heart races. “Why?” I manage to say.

“She said something about Mr. Pelley not wanting it to get out that he was there.”

“When exactly did she ask you?”

“The morning after the bonfire.”

“There was no school. It was a Saturday.”

“She cycled over to my place. Knocked on my door. I gave her the print, and she told me to get rid of the others, and the rest of the rolls of film, and to pretend I had lost the camera. She said the police had learned there was an illegal Ullr sacrifice, and that they would probably be asking kids about it, and we shouldn’t tell anyone that Mr. Pelley was there. I didn’t understand at the time. Not until I heard Leena was missing. But at the time I believed her because she was the cop’s daughter, and I figured she had insider information. She also promised if I did what she asked, Cheyenne would go to the prom with me.”

I suck in a slow, deep breath. “So you still have the negatives?”

“Yeah. I do. Do you want to take a look at them? Or should I take them to the Twin Falls PD? Or maybe the RCMP? I don’t really know if it would even be of interest to the cops now. But like I said, I’m not going to go giving them to Trinity Scott.”

My gaze ticks back to the image of the girls on the board. I have what I need. I’ve always had what I needed. It was in my face, even though I refused to fully see it. I think of appearances, and how it might be interpreted if Liam gave the film to me. Especially now.

My thoughts go to Maddy. And truth. And lies. And how bottling secrets, stuffing down guilt, can make a person ill and bitter. I think of our failed relationship.

It’s . . . the secrets that fester . . . They’re like this damned cancer.

“You should call the RCMP, Liam. You should hand it all over to them. You need to tell them that you were asked to lie.”